Searching For You
by Guard24
Summary: Emma seeking Killian out in certain moments.


A/N: I don't really know. I had an idea and went with it. Originally posted to Tumblr on April 12, 2015. Feedback is welcome and appreciated. Seriously you guys, I crave it. Not just the good stuff either, but things to make me a better writer as well.

She searched for him in sleep. A worried, wrinkled crease forming on her forehead as she unconsciously realized he was no longer holding her. She reached out for him until her hand found the warmth of his flesh, cuddling in closer to him, the look dissipating into that which resembles comfort and peace.

(He's only been awake to see it once, even though at least one of them does it a couple nights a week).

She searches for him when she's sick or in pain. When her initial resistance to the doting is abandoned, she gives in; let's him cook for her and bring her whatever pills fit her current condition. He'll hold her, sometimes sitting on the couch, other times kneeling down and wrapping his arms around her, planting kisses on her head. Instead of a pillow, she reaches out for him, squeezes his left arm or hook to try and release some of the pain, head rested against his shoulder. On the really bad days, she tries to keep the moaning and complaints to an absolute minimal; when she can't, his body tenses under hers, but his determination always won out over her desire to not have him see her like this.

(She loved him for this - even if it always annoyed her at first.)

He was her anchor. (The irony of the nautical metaphors were never lost on her.) But he was her constant, never wavering. When she was upset, she leaned on him, trying to let his presence be a reminder that no matter the circumstances, she would always have him. He was her rock. When words wouldn't come, she kissed him. And he always knew what she was trying to say, searching her expression or the intensity of her lips against his own.

She searched for him in the mornings, when she woke up to soft kisses on the back of her neck and curve of her shoulders. He had already been up for hours, prepared breakfast and brewed a fresh pot of coffee, coming back in the room around 8:30 to arouse her to consciousness.

"It's too early…" she muttered, burying herself deeper into her pillow.

"It's 8:30," he whispers, nibbling on her ear.

Her eyes widen. "Shit! Henry. He's gonna be late for-"

"Relax Swan, already taken care of. I dropped the lad off at the bus stop half an hour ago." She's already turned her body to meet his, her hand skimming his back as the fear erodes.

"Wait, really?" She loves the look on his face as she speaks, her tone light, surprised in the best way possible - his smile, wide and full, gazing into her eyes with all the love in world.

"Aye." She's never been able to depend on anyone to help her out before, especially devoid her asking. It will never not be a shock to her system, having someone love her this way. Loving her family this way. She searches for his lips in a silent thank you.

He always knows where to find her, whether it be at the docks when she needs to think, Henry's Castle when she's grieving the fact that he's growing up (or just sad that she missed all the key parenthood moments), Granny's, or the office of their small house on the beach. She never has to tell him, her mood and thoughts contagious as he reads her throughout the day. It's a comfort having someone know her this eerily well, but she still half expects no one to check up on her whereabouts after years in the foster system, feeling as if no one cared if she ever showed up again. Her heart soars when he comes up from behind her, saying her name with a breaking voice, touching her so gently, so intimately, that it syncs in like a calming magic. She's not as quick to lie now, to tell him she's okay or that she doesn't want him there. She still might opt out of talking, choosing instead to lean into his embrace, hugging him so tightly that it probably hurts. When she does decide to speak, she's blunt with her feelings, using his listening ear to try and sort them out.

She felt no pressure to be anything for him. She was just Emma, _his Emma._ Even with her parents, there was a fairly constant pressure to be the savior. Yes, they believed in her and she always came through for them in the end, but with him it was different. He believed in her despite the title. He believed in her without expecting anything in return. He didn't care whether she saved him, the town, or anyone. He was proud of her for doing so, but his love extended beyond. When she was with him, a weight was lifted off of her shoulders.

She always knows where to find him. When they weren't together, he spent a lot of his free time on the Jolly or assisting Belle at the library. She loves to watch him when he's not aware she's there, silently standing in the edge of the room, arms crossed, her lips turning upward at the corners. Now she finds him reading, sitting under one of the many lights aboard his ship. His left leg drapes over his right, leaning back in the chair, squinting with concentration as licks his fingers and turns the page. After a moment, she catches him smile down at the words typed across the hardcover bound book. "What's so funny, Captain?" she asks, sauntering over to him,

"The Pirate in it says 'As you wish'."

"The Princess Bride. I used to love that movie."

"Belle said it reminded her of us," he says with a grin.

She takes a seat beside him. "Read it to me."

She snuggles into the leather of his jacket, scanning the words as he reads. She wonders how she never connected the parallels between the story and theirs; it makes her feel a part of this world, like she finally has her own story - and there's no one she'd rather share it with.

She didn't know that she had been searching from day one; searching for a story to call her own, to claim that she lived through the supposed fables that all the children grew up listening to, wishing to be that hero or villain. She hadn't realized that a gap was missing, that she felt left out from the lives of everyone around her. She never thought she'd search for the type of love that Killian gave her. Unconditional. and She thought she had been an enemy to the love so rarely offered before discovering Storybrooke. His words float to the surface, _If it can be broken, it means it still works_. If her heart had been broken before, now she was grateful, for it was more full of love than it had ever been before. Love for Killian, for Henry, for her family, for her home. The one thing she had always been searching for was a home. In Killian's arms, home had never felt so right.


End file.
